


center of the body (somehow, someday, somewhere)

by Matrya



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Everybody Lives, Gay Richie Tozier, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:28:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23643091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Matrya/pseuds/Matrya
Summary: Richie knows, when he is six years old, that Eddie is different.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Richie Tozier/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 55





	center of the body (somehow, someday, somewhere)

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from David Leviathan's _Boy Meets Boy_ and _West Side Story_.
> 
> This is just about Richie being in love with Eddie his whole life, even when he forgets who Eddie is and is still searching for him. Thus, it does have several instances of Richie/Other. I mean, none of it is graphic because I Don't Do That, but if that bugs you...pass on by. Also I know about Sandy but this is Movie Richie and Movie Richie is gay.

He is six and he has a hand in his.

Eddie is not his first friend, and he is not Eddie's, but Richie knows that Eddie is his best friend. Not the same way Stan is his best friend, or Bill is Eddie's. And he knows that he, himself, is Eddie's best friend the way Eddie is his own.

They are six and Richie knows in his fingers and his bones, that Eddie is different.

"When we grow up, we can live in our own house made out of a peach. Or a banana," Eddie tells him.

Richie thinks about that while they swing in tandem. "What about Bill and Stan?"

Slowing, Eddie takes his own time to think. By the time they stop, toes dragging against the woodchips, he looks over at Eddie. "They can live next door."

"Okay. They can have the peach and we can have the banana." When Eddie takes his hand, Richie follows.

  


* * *

  


He is thirteen and he has a hand in his.

He is bleeding on Eddie's cast and Bill is holding his other hand, and Richie makes a promise he has no idea how to keep.

Eddie makes that promise, too, so Richie can do this. Richie hopes he never has to do this.

Days later, Eddie grabs his hand. Weeks later, Eddie grabs his hand. Months later, Eddie grabs his hand.

Victor Criss follows without the benefit of distance. "Didn't you learn anything?"

Richie drops Eddie's hand and tells him to run, because Eddie runs fast, runs faster than any of them, should be allowed to always run.

He never tells his parents why his glasses broke again or why his lip is split or how he feels about holding hands with his best friend.

When Eddie grabs his hand again, he shakes it off.

  


* * *

  


He is fifteen and he has a hand in his.

As soon as Eddie has both shoes on the carpet, Richie lets go and wanders back to his bed. "I have the new Spiderman."

"You want to read comics?"

Richie shrugs and lies back on his bed, refusing to comment on anything else just yet. He can pretend, if Eddie is here, that everything is always okay. He flips open the page and waits for Eddie to sit next to him.

After Richie has read the same page four times, Eddie climbs in next to him and shifts until he can see the pages, too. Eddie holds one edge and Richie drops his hand, waits for Eddie to finish.

This, he knows.

By the time they reach the last page, Eddie is holding his hand, again. Richie tries not to squeeze back, even as his mind refuses to let him avoid thinking about it anymore.

"It's stupid," Eddie says, so very quiet.

No stupid joke comes to mind. "Yeah." He looks over and Eddie looks back, but Richie just shrugs and puts on his best Bogie, "We'll always have Derry."

Eddie huffs a laugh. "I thought you were gonna talk about how much you'll miss my mom."

"Oh, you know it," he starts. "What am I going to do with my nigh—""Don't." Eddie's free hand is over Richie's mouth. "The other thing…that was good." Slowly, he pulls his hand away like he would be ready to slap it back if Richie started back up.

Eddie's head ends up on his shoulder, both of them looking off into space. There will be phone calls and letters, and they plan to go to the same college with Bill and Stan and Ben. But they have three years, and no one has heard from Beverly since a few weeks after she went to stay with her aunt. That could be any of them.

Richie will never forget to write but maybe Eddie will make new friends or get distracted. Or see how much better life is without Richie.

  


* * *

  


He is twenty and he has a hand in his.

Neal is in one of his drama classes. He has expressive eyebrows and dark hair, and this skit is something the two of them have been working on for weeks.

"You're going to have to kiss people you don't want to kiss," Neal tells him, frustrated again. Frustrated always. "It's part of the business, Rich."

"I'm not going to be an actor," Richie mutters, hopes Neal somehow misses how sweaty his hands have been since they started. "I don't want to kiss anyone for a skit."

Neal groans. "Is this because I'm a guy, or because I'm a gay guy? I don't have anything, dude. You don't get a lot of chances to date other dudes in Bodunk, Nebraska."

Richie takes his hand back and tries to surreptitiously wipe it on his jeans. Based on the look Neal gives him, he needs to work on his subtlety. "You're gay?"

"I'm gay," Neal confirms, annoyed as he is patient. "But I don't want to kiss you, either. So can we get this over with so that when we have to do it in front of people, you don't burst into tears?"

Both of them are standing at the high-top table and they have the rehearsal space for a bit, yet. He nods and takes Neal's hand again, and takes it from a few lines back. He has to lean down into it when Neal kisses him, and Richie's free hand hovers over Neal's shoulder.

He just has to get through this.

When Neal pulls back, his eyebrows nearly meet in the middle of his forehead and he looks at Richie for too long. "Okay, see? That was good."

"Okay." Richie clears his throat. "Are we done, then?"

"Do you want to run it again?"

Again. Blinking, Richie wipes a hand over his mouth. "Uhm, sure. If you think we need to."

Neal's eyes are intense, particular, so they run the whole thing again. If Neal uses tongue this time, and if Richie pulls him closer, none of that is anyone else's business.

  


* * *

  


He is twenty-seven and he has a hand in his.

Henri pulls him back to the bed. "Riiii-sheeeee." He pouts up. "You don't need to go."

Shaking away Henri's hand, Richie looks around for his jeans. "Yes, I do. I have a meeting with a producer in the morning."

"You can stay until then."

His jeans and boxers are together and he shakes his head. "I don't do that." Henri knows this; Richie told him this at the beginning.

With a soft thud, Henri groans. When Richie glances back, he has thrown himself back on the pillows. "I will come with you, then."

"I have to be there early, I don't want to wake you up." Richie smiles, a taut and humorless line, as he buttons his jeans.

"I do hate to be up early." He mutters something in French before he throws Richie his shirt. "You are the best and the worst boyfriend. We will do brunch."

Richie breathes through the panicked cadence in his chest, biting his lips together. "I'll, uh. I'll call you when I get out of my meeting."

The last time Richie stayed the night with a man, the last time one called him boyfriend, was college. Was Neal, who was never quite right, and he ignores every day how much Henri looks like Neal.

How Henri is also never quite right, even if he has no idea what he has to compare 'right' to, so he leaves a voicemail the next morning and never sees Henri again.

  


* * *

  


He is thirty-four and he has a hand in his.

Richie has a type. He is old enough to see the pattern in the few men he has chosen to…and, of course, in the ones that catch his attention in other ways. That never works out, for reasons he tries not to think about much. None of them are quite right.

"Gimme back the popcorn, asshole," Landon snipes, eyes never leaving the screen. "You're such a snack thief."

"Am not," he counters around a mouthful, even as he passes the bowl back. "I shared the Red Vines."

Landon shoves popcorn into his own mouth and pointedly chews it before he turns to Richie and replies with an intentional see-food display. "I bought Red Vines because you don't like them." He swallows and cranes his neck to bite at Richie's shoulder, reprimanding. "Because you're a renowned snack thief."

Richie just pulls him in with the arm over his shoulders. "I need something to entertain me if I have to watch these stupid superhero movies."

"Oh, I'll entertain you," Landon counters, eyes sharp. "I will entertain you all night long."

That sounds more his speed and Richie leans in until—

"After you let me watch my stupid superhero movie."

With a frown, Richie squeezes Landon's hand where their fingers are tangled together. "I get through this one movie about a stupid superhero and that's it?" He cocks his head to the side. "How am I supposed to wait that long?"

Rolling his eyes, Landon leans back and puts his attention back on the screen. "I think you'll manage."

"Dethpicable," Richie counters with his best Daffy Duck. "Abtholutely Dethpicable."

Landon calls it off two weeks later because, "You're always waiting for the right response, like everything's a test. Like you want to see if who I am is good enough or whatever." He shrugs and makes a face at his latte. "Also, I like dates where I go to restaurants and clubs, or like…bowling. I know that's dykey but I like bowling, shoot me, and those are things you don't do."

None of that is really wrong, not that Richie is waiting for him to be good enough, but he does know he needs the responses to be right enough, and they are most of the time. "That's fair," he says in acceptance and shrugs.

"Also, you're not even upset after I made you drive across the city and buy me a twelve dollar latte just to break up with you."

With another shrug, he takes a drink of his own coffee. "I mean, if that's what you want."

"See, that's not normal." Landon pats his cheek. "You told me you love me last week and now you're totally cool with me dumping you. You need some serious help."

Richie is old enough to know that already.

  


* * *

  


He is forty and he has a hand in his.

The machines are beeping the same steady tones they have for two days. The room smells like disinfectant and Eddie, and Richie, unfortunately.

Bill and Stan are on their way to the airport. Ben and Bev are at the inn. Mike is handling his affairs and his belongings.

Just the two of them, now, and Richie holds onto Eddie's hand like he did at six and nine and thirteen, tight between his and with so much love in his heart that is hurts to breathe.

"Eds, I don't really know if you can hear me. I hope not." He huffs a laugh and leans forward and holds Eddie's hand against his forehead. "But I need you to get better, man. Not just because I'm horribly in love with you but because…you're my best friend. I went so long without you and…knowing that someone was supposed to be there. And no one else was ever right. Now that I know, I need you to be there." He lets out a shaky breath.

"To be here. Or in New York while I'm 3,000 miles away but allowed to…to call you." He scrubs at his eyes too hard and sees stars, and still feels them welling up. "Also, I'm so fucking tired of crying."

He is so tired, and the longer Eddie refuses to wake up, the more he dwells in his own mind and Richie…Richie's own mind has never been much of a friend to himself. If he had to choose his own internal monologue or Pennywise to live in his head, never has he been certain that his own internal monologue would win.

The beeps continue. The sound of doctors and nurses and gurneys filter in from the hallway. The room is starting to brighten with the kind of evening light that says a nurse is going to be in soon, if only to tell him visiting hours are ending. Richie is still in love with Eddie. This hospital room is a place of constants and he blows long and steady before he squeezes Eddie's hand tighter and tries to remember absolutely anything about how to pray.

  


* * *

  


He is forty-three and he has a hand in his.

Eddie is chattering on as he leads the way through the airport, talking about how the new place is being painted and they should be able to move in starting tomorrow. Then about a complicated account at work that has his boss breathing down his neck. After that, he gets into an altercation he had with the lady at his bodega when she sneezed while counting his change, and right into her hand, and he was so glad to be moving.

Richie is happy to let that roll over him and curl around him until the two of them are standing in front of the luggage carousel and Eddie leans into him, shoulder to shoulder, and asks, "Are you nervous?"

"No." Richie waits for something else, or for the carousel to spring into action.

After a few impatient seconds of shifting, Eddie looks up at him. "Not at all?"

"Nope. What are you nervous about?" He meets Eddie's eyes and raises an eyebrow.

Eddie licks his lips and takes a very measured breath. "That we'll drive each other crazy."

With a 'hmm', Richie pretends to consider that as the crush of people alight at the carousel moving. They all seem to contract, moving in as one until individuals start to break away as their own bags come out. He makes a mental note to return to classic airport comedy with a gay twist. "I like when you drive me crazy."

"Not in a _good_ way, Rich."

Still, Richie shrugs that off and squeezes his hand. "What are we going to deal with that's worse than what we've already beat?"

"Oh, shut up, asswipe." Eddie scoffs, makes a disgusted face. "What's that shit? What kind of—"

"Love you too, Eds." He smooches the side of Eddie's head and looks back at the carousel.

Later—by a number of days, weeks, and months—they sit on their sofa surrounded by friends who are rating the cell phone candids of them that they can find on Twitter. Eddie pulls their joined hands to his mouth and kisses Richie's knuckles before he leans into Richie more.

The two of them sit and listen to their friends absolutely roast their attempts to be discreet about PDA, and Eddie dozes off. Richie squeezes his hand, though, and Eddie squeezes back.

**Author's Note:**

> Yoooo, thanks for reading this if you got this far, I appreciate it! I really like constructive feedback if you've got any, but all comments and kudos are appreciated. I'm working on some other Reddie things as we speak but I really wanted to throw something out there and nothing else is close to ready.
> 
> If you want to come lose your sense of self and sever your ties with this world in favor of bringing Eddie Kaspbrak back from the dead, then please hmu on tumblr at [matrya](https://matrya.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Also this ended up getting longer and I lopped off the end because it was reaching a point where I wouldn't be able to tie it up quickly, so let me know if you think I should work with that remainder and post it as a sequel or something? It's an idea.


End file.
